Remorseless: ‘What would you have done?’

Jeremy Hall had a girlfriend and she gave birth to his son. After being released from jail for his latest conviction, he learned she planned to put the baby up for adoption.

He was furious, lost his mind: there was no way his boy was going to grow up in the foster-child system. But he had little power to wield while on parole and living in a halfway house.

He asked his mother, Cathy, if she would take care of the baby. She was reluctant but did so for a time. But when Hall violated his parole conditions and was back in jail she gave the baby back to his now ex-girlfriend, who changed the boy's first and last name.

The thought fleetingly occurred to him that he could get a lawyer, seek custody. But it all seemed so huge. How could he afford a lawyer? And he didn't even know where his ex was living.

Hall figured, down the road, when the boy was older, maybe he'd look for him, maybe they could pick it up from there. But Hall never saw him again.

By the mid-1990s, in his early 20s, he was still in touch with his sister, Jennifer, but his mother and father were out of his life.

He had no desire to speak to his mother. He was angry that she had not helped him with his son. They had argued about that, and he was bitter about things she said to him and how she had raised him from the start.

His father married another woman. Hall met the woman. He believed that she forced his dad to choose between himself and Jennifer, or her – and that he picked her. Hall hated her for it.

Hamilton cop Ian Matthews arrested Jeremy Hall at gunpoint in 1999, and half a decade later helped lead the Billy Mason murder investigation.

On New Year's Eve 1997, Hall, who had just turned 24, started dating 18-year-old Carol Anne Eaton. She was slim with brown eyes and dark red hair. By June they were living together.

"I never had a tight relationship with my dad. He never sat me down and taught me things … We're not a close family. The only times my family got together was when one of us needed to be buried. My father's family was like that. He had five or six siblings, but his dad – my grandfather – took off back to Fredericton when they were all kids. Like I never met him. Or actually, once I did when I was like seven. He came back from New Brunswick to watch a hockey game with my dad. He brought us little bags of f-----g seaweed. Like, 'OK bud!' But that's the only time I've seen him in my life, he never talked to me, my father never introduced him to me. He just sat on the couch watching hockey. I never saw him again."

Jeremy Hall

He was perpetually on the radar of Hamilton Police, always a prime suspect.

In early January 1999, police conducted surveillance on Hall at a house on Wexford Avenue North in the east end. A taxi-van stopped at the house and picked up Hall and two others. Police followed the van, which drove around trying to shake the unmarked car. On the QEW at Trafalgar Road, Halton Police cruisers pulled the van over.

Two men stepped out of the van. The third, Hall, hid lying in the back seat. When he got out, a Hamilton detective named Ian Matthews drew his gun on Hall and ordered his hands up. When Hall got out a sawed-off shotgun fell to the floor where he had been hiding.

Given his criminal record he was prohibited from owning firearms.

Matthews examined the weapon. The serial number was sanded off.

"You are under arrest for robbery," Matthews said.

"How many?" Hall replied.

"At least two for sure."

He served two months in jail. Then he did 60 days on an assault charge.

After his release he resumed his life with Carol Anne Eaton. They lived with Eaton's mother, Ann, and her stepbrother, 28-year-old George Godfrey. They rented a house in the east end at 47 Glassco Ave. S.

Ann was separated from Carol Anne's father, Murray Eaton. Carol Anne prepared her father before he met her boyfriend. She told him that Hall had had a rough childhood, had tattoos and peppered his speech with swear words.

Her father met Hall at the house on Glassco, where he was doing some repairs. Murray, who once worked as a police officer in Halton, didn't hold Hall's language against him, given the young man's background.

The two of them shook hands and then Hall excused himself to resume the repairs. Murray thought he was polite and came to believe he was kind to his daughter, that he listened to what she had to say and respected her opinions.

When he heard about Hall's criminal record it didn't compute with what he saw. It was like he was two different people. He didn't know criminal Jeremy William Hall; the person he knew personally, he liked.

The private, family Jeremy seemed a polar opposite of the notorious public name. It was, Murray Eaton thought, like he had a dual personality.

The house on Glassco was fifty paces from a dive on Queenston Road called JP Carly's. The bar was notorious to neighbours for noise and fights.

On Dec. 19, Hall turned 26. Eaton was pregnant with his child.

On Boxing Day her brother George Godfrey watched Sunday NFL football at home on TV. He drank several beers. That evening Hall, Godfrey and Carol Anne walked to JP Carly's.

Godfrey had more drinks and he shot pool with Hall. They argued over a bet. Godfrey kept needling Hall, accusing him of cheating.

Later that night, paramedics and police were called to 47 Glassco. Godfrey lay on the floor at the top of the stairs unconscious, his face swollen, bleeding from the ear and nose. The paramedic noted that the victim was close to death.

His blood-alcohol level – more than four times the legal driving limit – exacerbated his condition. At Hamilton General ER he was listed in critical condition with a slim chance of survival. He was placed in a medically induced coma.

The only other people in the house when police and paramedics arrived were Carol Anne Eaton and her mother, Ann.

The phone rang. A police officer inside the house picked up the receiver.

"Hello. Who is this calling?" the cop said.

"Jeremy," said the rough-edged voice on the other end. "Who is this?"

"Constable Ross McCullough, Hamilton Police."

"What are you doing in my house?" Hall said, his voice rising, swearing.

McCullough was not surprised. He had dealt with Hall a few years back, and he had sworn at him then, too.

The officer kept Hall on the phone, but turned the receiver upside down, so he wouldn't hear him make a separate call to the police station, asking for a trace on the call.

"What happened here tonight, Jeremy?" McCullough asked.

"George came into my house," Hall said. "He woke me up and told me he was going to throw me out the window. So I punched him in the face and kicked him in the head. Why? What would you have done?"

"Remember what Jeremy Hall said to the police, 'Why, what would you have done?' This trial has been about a man who beat George Godfrey unconscious," Fraser said. "The accused attempts to justify his actions by saying to the police, 'why, what would you have done?' It is a question that each of you should be asking yourselves … it is a question I am certain you have asked during the trial. The answers should be: not what Jeremy Hall did."

The night of the beating police had traced Hall's call to a house in the area where a friend of his lived, a woman. But still he eluded them for nearly two months. He was well practised at living under the radar.

Eventually they found him at a house five minutes from Glassco, on Cope Street, where he surrendered and was arrested.

47 Glassco: where Jeremy Hall almost beat George Godfrey to death.

George Godfrey recovered from his injuries and testified at the trial, but only briefly: he remembered nothing from the entire evening.

Hall's lawyer argued that his client had never wanted to fight, that he had kept retreating from Godfrey even as the drunken man continued to get in his face. And when Godfrey confronted Hall back at the house, Hall had responded but not intended to critically injure him.

Prosecutor Fraser told the court that Godfrey's mother, Ann, heard three loud bangs upstairs in the house, as though someone's head was being slammed against the wall.

Ann also said that Carol Anne had sworn at her when she called 911 for help, and slammed the door in the face of police officers when they came to the house.

He called Carol Anne Eaton to the stand. She had told police that Jeremy said he punched her brother four times. But now she contradicted her earlier statements. Fraser asked the court to declare her a hostile witness.

It would not be the last time that Fraser would discover that obtaining a police statement from Eaton, and having her information presented in court, were two different things.

Meanwhile, Hall's sister, Jennifer LeBlanc, was also declared a hostile witness after she had been called to testify.

FRASER I am going to read to you, Ms. LeBlanc, portions of the statement that you gave to police on the 27th of March of this year. Do you have it in front of you there?

LEBLANC Mm-hmm.

FRASER Quote, "On Monday, December 27, 1999, Jeremy showed up at my door around 6 p.m. I let him in and he said 'I think I've killed someone.' I asked him 'What?' Jeremy said 'Well, I don't think I killed him but he's in the hospital on life support.'" Now, having read that to you, Ms. LeBlanc, does that assist you in recalling a visit by your brother on Monday, December 27, 1999?

LEBLANC No, not at all.

FRASER You said, quote: "I asked Jeremy what had happened and he told me he was at the bar playing pool with Carol Anne's brother. The first game was for $10. Carol Anne's brother lost and didn't want to give Jeremy the money. He called Carol Anne's brother a pussy. He grabbed the money out of Carol Anne's brother's pocket and went and bought drinks, and Carol Anne's brother wanted to play another game for $10. They played and Jeremy won again. Carol Anne's brother was whining about that and Jeremy said 'Keep your money.' Do you remember your brother saying that to you on December 27th?

LEBLANC No, I don't remember.

FRASER You just don't remember?

LEBLANC I just don't remember anything, like I said from day one, like I have been through enough already. I do not need to be here when I do not know what is going on.

Hall did not testify. Lawyers defending him did not tend to put him on the stand, perhaps reasoning that he would not come off well for a jury or judge.

Over the years, sitting in his accused box in court, sometimes with his head shaved, the goatee, tatted up, dark eyes – some felt he gave off an evil aura. Extra security guards were ordered for his appearances. Hall believed people saw what they wanted to see.

"Look at the size difference between the two men," Craig Fraser said to the jury. "Even if you accept that George was the aggressor, what would it have taken for Jeremy Hall to resist? It was for Jeremy Hall open season on George Godfrey and he beat him unconscious."

On Nov. 10, 2000, he was found guilty.

"Mr. Hall," said Justice Paul Philp, "Do you have anything to say before I pass sentence on you?"

"Yes, I do your honour."

"I will hear what you have to say."

"I would just like to say there was no intent on my part and I'm not guilty of the charge I was convicted on. Thank you."

The judge said the sentence must express "society's abhorrence of this type of violence and brutality."

"The assault was cruel and brutal and far out of proportion to any provocation by the victim … who was so drunk that he must have been practically helpless," the judge added.

"The accused has shown no remorse whatsoever."

"I wouldn't say that I was sending a message to anybody. It was just more self-expression. Because I wasn't remorseless. I was bitter. I was f-----g bitter."

Jeremy Hall

He sentenced him to six and a half years in prison, with two years off for time already served. He added that he hoped Hall would undergo anger management therapy.

"You obviously have a quick and explosive temper that you must learn to control so that you can live a normal, lawful life when you come out."

He was shipped to Kingston Penitentiary, the 165-year old prison nicknamed Canada's Alcatraz. It would close 13 years later, but in 2000 was still home to some of the country's most notorious criminals.

Hall was about to meet two men who would figure prominently in his life. They shared his pattern of crime and incarceration, and also aspects of his broken life growing up.

The two men shared a brotherhood with him. They would contribute to his downfall.